


the way i'm running with you honey

by philthestone



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, minor references to panic attacks, pre-charges and specs, the one where jake still uses his old inhaler and it has teenage mutant ninja turtles on it, whomst in this house is a sucker for Intense Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 23:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philthestone/pseuds/philthestone
Summary: Oh, brother. She is going tokillJake when she gets her hands on him.Presuming, of course, says a very unfortunate voice in her head that sounds eerily like Captain Holt,that he hasn’t suffered fatalasphyxiation first.Amy loves Captain Holt, she really truly does, he is her mentor and hero and on better days somewhat of a father figure, but that iscategoricallynot helping anything right now.





	the way i'm running with you honey

**Author's Note:**

> i guess the mood for tonight is digging up all my ages old fics and posting them here before the new year!!!!!!! its been so long i honestly cant remember but im PRETTY sure the title's from an adele song.
> 
> also, teenage mutant ninja turtles are something i know nothing about, but i support jake in his love for them

If one were to compile a detailed historical record of Amy Santiago’s Comprehensive Dating Experience, the Amy Santiago in question would most likely give you a thumbs up, stack her office supplies in a suitcase, and move to Venezuela. 

This is, at least, what Jake Peralta had once said, a statement that earned him a rather violent elbow in the ribs – no less aggressive because of the fact that Amy herself was secretly in accordance. 

Her dating history was, indeed, miserable. And, even more importantly, she would _most definitely_ stack her office supplies in the suitcase, because even in a moment of panicked exile, anything less than stacking where office supplies are concerned is just plain barbaric. 

Everyone knows _that_. 

“Further proof,” says Jake, when Amy makes the terrible mistake of vocalizing this defense, “that Santiago should just move to Venezuela _now_ because of what a huge nerd she is –” 

She elbows him twice as hard that time (which is really saying something, considering the excess violence of the first). 

Anyway, Amy doesn’t need Jake to tell her that her dating history has been catastrophic at worst and abysmal at best, and she _certainly_ doesn’t need him to tell her that Teddy is a nothing short of a breath of fresh air, sitting there smiling at her in his nice shirt and nice tie and eating nice food at a nice restaurant, with a nice atmosphere and nice conversation and – 

Well, it’s _nice_. 

It is so nice, in fact, that they’re pretty much Officially A Thing, and this is something close to the twentieth date they’ve been on, and Amy is having a wonderful time and pretending that she isn’t secretly compiling a list of all of the things that Have Not Yet Gone Wrong in her head. 

(No creepy uncle; no weird obsession with ranch salad dressing; no insistence that he wear bright red socks during intimacy; no questioning her extensively on her dental hygiene –) 

Teddy is sweet. Teddy is understanding. Teddy laughs at her jokes and has lots of fun quizzing her on police codes over baked ziti and Teddy, thank God and Christ and all the saints her mother prays to, doesn’t say a single thing whenever her phone buzzes loudly at the table and she takes the call, because Teddy _understands_ that taking that call could be the difference between someone living or someone dying. 

And it’s at exactly that moment – Amy in the middle of telling him all about the woeful discovery that there are new binders in the supply closet downstairs and she just _can’t_ bring herself to go in there – that her phone _does_ go off. Its buzzing is as as violent and angry as the caller ID that lights up the screen, and Amy gives Teddy less than half an apologetic glance before swiping her thumb over Rosa’s face and pressing the phone to her ear. 

“Santiago he –”

“ _Santiago, where the living hell does Jake keep his inhaler?_ ” 

Amy blinks. Of all the things that she was expecting, this was not very high on the list. 

“I – his inhaler? Diaz –” 

“ _Do you have it_?” 

“I’ve got a _spare_ ,” says Amy, frowning into her plate of linguine and tugging her purse into her lap. Her hand rummages through it on autopilot, barely glancing at Teddy once before her fingers close over the plastic cartridge which has been tucked in the left-hand pocket under her makeup wipes for the past three years. “But I don’t know if it’s –”

“ _Listen, you either know where it is or you get your ass here in under five minutes with the spare, I can’t –_ ”

Amy barely notices that her _what happened_? is spoken with an unfamiliar trickle of panic seeping up her esophagus, because she can hear muffled sounds in the background of Rosa’s call, and the sound of someone shouting. 

“ _Just, gimme – hang on –_ ” There’s a strangled shout. 

“I’m not sure if it’s out-of-date,” says Amy practically, while somewhere in the back of her mind a small drum seems to be banging, a subconscious shout that doesn’t seem to want to kick its way to the forefront of her mind and push her into _alert and panicking_ mode. (Not necessarily always conducive, Amy knows, but in _this_ particular case –) 

“ _No, Charles –_ Boyle _, give him_ spa _–_

“I’m being serious, Rosa,” Amy continues, almost as though on autopilot. Autopilot is a good thing to be on in a situation like this, where she’s on a Very Nice Date with a Very Nice Man and for some reason the stars have aligned such that her Very Nice Date with this Very Nice Man is being interrupted by her wayward co-workers and _not_ , in fact, a crisis of police business. Autopilot means that Amy doesn’t have to deal with the trickle of anxiety that started at the back of her throat from the moment Rosa asked her first question, and autopilot means that she keeps that anxiety-driven train of thought – _she has Jake’s inhaler and Rosa needs Jake’s inhaler and she’s not within thirty seconds of them_ – pigeonholed firmly at the very back of her mind. 

“Expired steroids,” Amy continues, raising her eyebrows at her baked ziti and waving her fork slightly, “can be a _major_ pro –” 

“ _SANTIAGO!_ ” 

Amy starts, one hand jerking against the phone and the other knocking her glass of water over the table. Teddy’s eyebrows have flown up on his forehead, one hand automatically reaching forward and grabbing hers. Belatedly, Amy realizes that the fingers that aren’t gripping her phone are trembling. 

Oh, brother. She is going to _kill_ Jake when she gets her hands on him. 

_Presuming, of course_ , says a very unfortunate voice in her head that sounds eerily like Captain Holt, _that he hasn’t suffered fatal asphyxiation first_. 

Amy loves Captain Holt, she really truly does, he is her mentor and hero and on better days somewhat of a father figure, but that is _categorically_ not helping anything right now – 

“Amy,” asks Teddy, his eyebrows still flying sky high, “is everything alright?” 

“Rosa,” Amy squeaks. 

“ _You’re like two freaking minutes away Santiago, he_ can’t breathe!” 

It’s at this point that Amy feels something shift and click at the back of her head, like a belated train starting to chug forward. Slowly, anxiety is transforming from a trickle into a mist that is, equally slowly, disappearing entirely as Amy’s brain starts compiling a List: leave money to pay bill, get up from table, ask Rosa location of idiot colleague, make way to sidewalk, get in a car, drive to location, thwack Jake over the head for being such a disorganized mess – 

It is also at this point that Amy looks back up at Teddy, who is, unsurprisingly, looking both concerned and understanding. He has, _surprisingly_ , not commented on the orange inhaler that Amy is clutching in front of her like some kind of beacon against – God, who knows, _idiocy_ probably – 

“I. Um,” says Amy. 

“Is everything alright?” Teddy repeats, eyebrows creasing. 

“I have to go?” Amy frowns; it came out a question, and this is definitely _not_ a question. The train is still taking its God damned time, that’s for sure. “I have to go.” A lot more assertive, this time, we’re picking up speed folks, _that’s good_ – “It’s, um – so, uh, Jake has asthma.” 

Good, Santiago. Stating of the facts. 

( _God_ , she’s going to kill someone.) 

Teddy blinks a few times. “Okay.” 

“And, um,” says Amy. “He kind of – loses things? All the time, and –” And here, finally, Amy feels the wheels of urgency start churning in earnest behind her throat, trickling down into her chest, so sudden that she feels her own eyes widen in alarm even as she manages a strangled laugh, because _I have Jake’s inhaler and Rosa needs Jake’s inhaler and I’m not within thirty seconds of them_ – “Ha! _Ha_ , so, so like, I have his inhaler, and I – I have – I have to go, holy shit I have to _go_ –” 

So much for the very organized List. 

It’s at this point that any other of Amy’s Past Boyfriends (capitalized for homogeneity and the general awfulness of the group, in no particular order) would have demanded answers to some very reasonable questions. Teddy is far too kind and understanding to ask any of these, but Amy answers them anyway, telling him why they can’t just take Jake to the hospital instead (“I’m closer, really, Methodist is all the way on the other side of Brooklyn and I’m only a block away –”), or how they even knew where Amy was (“Gina installed a tracker app on my phone two weeks ago when I was in the bathroom and I haven’t had a chance to get rid of it yet,”), or if it’s really that serious (“I mean it’s only triggered if he breathes like _literally_ the worst air on Earth, but –”), or even why it definitely looks like there are fading Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle designs on the outer casing of the inhaler in Amy’s hand (“I – I think it’s kind of cute,” says Amy, who doesn’t have the mental or emotional energy to psychoanalyze the defensive twitch in her tone, foregoing the much more truthful answer of _I really,_ really _don’t know_ ). 

Teddy is officially the best person Amy’s ever known, because instead of asking any of the questions Amy answers anyway, he sighs only very slightly and offers to give her a ride. 

Which brings Amy to where she is, now, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with the _worst_ person Amy’s ever known on the bench outside of the bullpen, trying her best not to glower at the opposite wall. 

Like, he could have _died_ or whatever. Generally socially acceptable behaviour means not being mad at people who could have almost died, regardless of whether or not it was due to his own rampant disorganization _or_ to her possession of his medication. 

Amy closes her eyes and counts to twelve, and then imagines a big room filled with highlighters that glide smoothly on the page, and then taps her fingers against her knees. 

“So,” says Jake, conversational. His voice is only very slightly raspy. Rosa had paperwork left to get done and Charles went out to find suitably-appropriate gourmet tea, because that’s apparently what you do after your best friend accidentally has an asthma attack, so they’re the only two people sitting in the break room. The faint noises of night shift work coming from the bullpen filter through the crack of the door. “Did you know that the apartment building by that elementary school is across from like, a waste _burnage_ site? Jeez, who burns trash outside a _kids’_ _school_ , that’s gotta be like, _hella_ illegal –” 

“You do know,” says Amy, “that this means you totally owe me a date, you asshole.” 

If Amy wasn’t currently still thinking about, (a) the fact that Jake’s lips were a terrifying and unattractive shade of purple when she elbowed her way into the room, (b) how Teddy just texted her with a _u okay?_ , with heart emojis and everything, _so_ much better than her usual fare, and, © the general moronity of the universe – she would have noted the way Jake’s face suddenly goes pale, a lot more so than usual, drained of all the rosiness that so often dances over his cheeks and nose. As it is, she only notices this very absently, chalking it up to broader symptoms of Near Asphyxiation and crossing her arms. 

“You’re totally covering one of my shifts next week so I can go out again,” she continues, still looking determinedly at the wall, and _does_ notice Jake’s somewhat stuttering exhale. And, also, his muttered, 

“Right, of course.” 

“What?” 

“N-nothing,” Jake says, even though his voice sounds oddly strangled. “Um, nothing, just –” He clears his throat, and presses his head against the wall behind them. “I can’t believe you actually had a date, _nerd_.” 

Amy’s mouth drops open. 

“I have been _successfully dating_ for a _whole month_!” 

Jake grins at her. It’s entirely infuriating. 

“You probably looked ridiculous holding the Turtle Inhaler,” he says and Amy decides then and there that she _does_ know exactly why he has that stupid design on his stupid medication, and it has nothing to do with being cute or any irrational defensiveness against humans called Teddy Wells, but everything to do with Ruining Amy Santiago’s Normally-Very-Good-And-Peaceful, Thanks, Life. 

“Says the idiot who got _turtles_ on his _inhaler!_ ” says Amy, and then, “if you didn’t nearly die five minutes ago, I _would_ be murdering you right now.” 

“With office supplies,” says Jake seriously. “I’m very aware. Not with your bare hands, though, that’d be weird and kinky, unless you’re totally into that – _ow_ , no smacking that’s against the constitution and don’t take my inhaler with you to Venezuela when you move, please, Detective Nerdiago –” 

“Your _face_ ,” exclaims Amy in a moment of complete and utter shame, “is a nerd!” 

“Your face is a bigger nerd!” yells Jake, which is a thing he probably shouldn’t be doing, considering his voice comes out a little scratchy and he almost choked to death ten minutes ago. Amy almost mentions this, but is distracted by her own urge to shove his shoulder with hers and use this moment of Peralta Being The Worst to wipe any errant memories of the first time he lapsed into an asthma attack and scared her half to death from her mind. 

“Well _you_ –” 

Which is of course the exact moment Captain Holt clears his throat at the doorway. 

Amy has successfully gone right back to wanting to murder Jake Peralta with her bare hands. 

(And _no_ that is _not kinky_ , thank you very much.) 

“Detective Santiago,” says Captain Holt carefully, and _wow_ , that really was his voice in her head predicting Jake’s (un?)fortunate demise. “Detective Wells asked me to tell you that he’s gone home. Apparently you haven’t been answering your cellphone.” 

Amy frowns, pulling her phone out once again, and feels her lips part as she scrolls through the missed texts and calls. Her attention had been, of course, focused on getting the inhaler to Jake, but after that, what – 

She’d been sitting on a bench and – goofing off? With Jake? 

She bites her lip and looks up at Captain Holt with a forced smile. 

“Sorry sir, thanks for letting me know.” 

“Have a good night, Detectives,” says Holt, raising an eyebrow in Jake’s direction (he clamps his lips back shut, clearly in the middle of mockingly imitating Amy’s _sorry sir, thanks for letting me know_ ). Amy turns back to her phone, flicking through Teddy’s texts. 

_Hey, babe, it’s getting late. I’ve got an early day tomorrow, text me if everything’s ok._

Perfect spelling and grammar, too. A calming experience, unlike the abhorrent presence of _thx det loseriag o_ on her screen, which she had to endure only this morning (and oh, what a long time ago that seems) after she helped Jake ID a lead on one of his cases for Charles. 

“Yeah,” says Jake suddenly, in a voice far quieter than the one he’d used before, snapping Amy’s mind away from the mild confusion that arose after she realized that retrospectively Jake’s text wasn’t bothering her nearly as much as she thought it would, and was instead, somehow, _weirdly_ , endearing. “Of course, I’ll cover your shifts. Tell Teddy I’m sorry I screwed up your night out.” 

And Amy makes the mistake of turning and looking at him _,_ because all of a sudden, any urges to murder Jake Peralta seem to melt away. 

“You idiot,” she says softly, and sort of maybe hates that her voice is so soft, what is _that_ all about. 

(She knows – she knows what it’s about. But like. She’s in an adult month-long dating relationship, now. She can’t _do_ that to herself.) 

“You could’ve died. You need to have that thing on you all the time, Jake.” 

Jake kicks his heel against the bench they’re sitting on and shrugs, exhaling again. 

“Yeah, I – I know. I’m, uh, I’ll work on – on that.” 

He looks really tired all of a sudden, which Amy knows is a side effect of not breathing (she read a book about the respiratory system once, it was very interesting), but it almost makes her ignore her hesitations towards softness and her own, squirreled away feelings and any lingering doubts she had about why she’s been keeping a spare inhaler for him in her purse for the past five years. 

“Hey,” says Amy, and her voice is still soft, but honestly? Who cares. This is a soft thing to say. “I’ve got your back, Peralta. That’s why I put the stupid inhaler in there to begin with.” 

“I’ll get a new one without Ninja Turtles on it,” offers Jake, looking up at her and grimacing, almost like he’s _embarrassed_ – Jake is very rarely embarrassed by anything – and maybe that’s what compels Amy to say what she does next. 

“Nah.” She grins, and bumps his shoulder again. “The Turtles are kinda cute.” 

(She looks down at her phone, ready to dial Teddy’s number and apologize for making him wait, and that’s why she misses the flush of colour blooming over her partner’s pale cheeks, or is completely oblivious to his own contemplation of the benefits of moving to Venezuela – the perfect getaway spot to take one’s mind off of the failed romance in one’s life.) 


End file.
